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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326479">chasing cars around our heads</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourstares/pseuds/djbunn3'>djbunn3 (sourstares)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Promare (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Depression, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:36:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourstares/pseuds/djbunn3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Galo has broken into his apartment.<br/>Lio isn’t one hundred percent sure, but he’d put good money on it being Gueira’s fault. After all, there’s only one other key that can unlock his door, and the last time it was used was right before his generals headed off to Burning Rescue, right where Galo spends a good twelve hours a day.<br/>The sound of shuffling echoes through the vacant apartment, a couple of distant thuds and whacks as Galo sets down his belongings and kicks off his shoes, followed by light footsteps approaching the bedroom.<br/>“Lio?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lio Fotia &amp; Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>131</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>chasing cars around our heads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wakes up one morning, and he can’t move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an alarming realization, and yet when he thinks about it, it makes enough sense. The world is cold--frost stains the outsides of the glass windows of his apartment, the biting cold seeps in through the cracks and surrounds him, even under the mountain of blankets he piles himself under every night. The weather must have gotten to him, he decides. That’s why he’s frozen in place like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He must have woken up half an hour ago, at least, but he stays perfectly still as the minutes continue to tick on, wondering how long he can lie here. He imagines himself waiting in bed as the years tick on, watching thick green vines grow over his body, chaining him to his mattress like iron bars and steel handcuffs. If he gets up early enough, the vines will fall away like overcooked noodles, but he doesn’t think he will. Most likely, he’ll stay and wait for them to tie him down, fill his mouth with leaves and sprout between his toes, and if he’s careful enough, keeps his head at the right angle, maybe a vine will wrap itself around his neck like a fresh green noose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world will go on, he thinks. He knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some time later (it could be minutes or hours for all he knows) his phone begins to vibrate on the shabby wooden nightstand beside his bed. He’d gone with Meis and Gueira to pick the device out of a thrift store that more closely resembled a junkyard, and ever since he hasn’t been able to go two minutes without that annoying buzzing. Galo offers to teach him how to put it on silent, but Lio doesn’t let him. He doesn’t want the help. He doesn’t want to owe Galo one more thing, not that it would make much of a difference on the ever-growing list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The vibrating stops, then starts again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Logically, Lio knows he has to get up. He has to go lead the Burnish in their newest attempt to reintegrate with society--they’re getting jobs now that the funds from Kray’s government-mandated donation are running out. He has to sign papers at the Burning Rescue headquarters. He has to take a shower, to brush his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has to get up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cold makes his body feel weak and frail. He has tired arms and tired legs, and a head full of fuzz, and he thinks he might freeze to death even under the immense pile of bedding. All of a sudden, logic doesn’t seem to motivate him anymore. He closes his eyes, and imagines frost on his lashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The world will go on,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks as dark clouds of sleep roll into the skies of his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It will go on without me.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It’s dark out when he opens his eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s not much difference aside from that, but even so he can tell from the taste in his mouth that he’s been asleep for a good few hours. He curls his toes, surprised to find that he can move much more easily now than before. His throat is dry and scratchy, so he tugs a hand out from under the covers to touch it, shivering at the feeling of cool fingertips on his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can move his arms, his hands and his toes. He still doesn’t have the strength to pull himself out of bed. If this were a battle, he doesn’t know if he’d be winning or losing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s startled by a harsh vibrating, just like before, only now he can hear it more clearly. With great effort he turns his head and reaches out, fingers feeling around on the nightstand until they come into contact with his phone. (It’s cold as ice--he would know better than anyone.) Switching it on, he blinks blearily as the light assaults him, until his eyes adjust to the brightness. Several text notifications pop up on his screen, first from Meis and Gueira, then from the Captain, and finally, of course, from Galo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio reads them--he thinks he does. He doesn’t respond. (He doesn’t know what it is that they’d said, so how could he?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand feels frozen by the time he’s dismissed all of the notifications, noting in between swipes that it’s almost nine at night. Usually he’d be headed home from HQ right around now, unless Galo convinces him to go out with the rest of Burning Rescue, or to spend some time at his apartment playing video games.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, he feels tired. He’s been sleeping all day, and he can still feel himself slipping back into sleep, despite the scratchy feeling in his throat and the hollow emptiness of his stomach. He’s not hungry, not really. He’s alright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Staring up at the ceiling, he wonders if he really can stay like this forever. What, if anything, will be the motivating factor forcing him out of bed? Will it be guilt? Or fear? He certainly isn’t feeling either of those things right now, despite not having done anything all day. He really doesn’t feel much of anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of getting up, he traces the jagged patterns on his ceiling until sleep claims him once again.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>One thing that has somehow slipped Lio’s mind is that Gueira has a key to his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mistakenly, he’d given it to his top general way back when he’d first rented the place out, under the impression that it would be good for him to have. He doesn’t really know what he was thinking, but the fact of the matter is that Gueira has it, and apparently he’s decided to make good use of it today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio is staring at the wall this time when he hears the telltale click of the lock being turned, followed by Gueira’s unmistakable call of “Boss!” from the entranceway. He breathes out the faintest of sighs and closes his eyes--the chipping textured paint hadn’t been that interesting to look at, anyway, and he still feels so incredibly tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boss?” Gueira calls again, followed by the sound of four feet’s worth of footsteps trodding through the kitchen and living room, until at last they come to a stop outside of Lio’s bedroom door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re coming in,” Meis calls after a minute, and then the door is creaking open on its rusty hinges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio doesn’t even try to turn around. He can’t feel his feet or his hands, and his chest feels heavy and thick, making each breath feel like it’s been dragged through honey on its way out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boss?” Gueira says once again, quieter. “You okay there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t come to work yesterday,” Meis adds. “The folks at Burning Rescue didn’t know where you were, either. Not even Galo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Lio says. He already knows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sick or somethin’?” Gueira asks, and Lio can hear him taking a tentative step closer. “Not feelin’ good right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Lio says. “Just tired.” His mouth is dry already--he wonders if Gueira would get him a cup of water if he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should we tell Burning Rescue that you can’t make it in today, either?” Meis asks, concerned. “I think some of them are starting to worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With great effort, Lio manages to roll onto his back, eyes shifting sideways to stare at his two generals. They’re bundled up in winter coats, Meis’s blue and Gueira’s red, matching. Gueira has a long scarf coiled around his neck just under his hair, and Lio finds it infinitely more pleasant to look at than the chipping walls and the stained ceiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look tired,” Meis says gently. “I’ll tell them you’re staying home today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t there anything we can do for you?” Gueira asks, leaning forward with his hands fisted at his sides. The longer end of the scarf dangles just over the edge of Lio’s bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Lio says once again, fighting past the cottony dryness of his tongue and teeth. “Please don’t worry about me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gueira leans back and casts an unconvinced glance at Meis, who seems to share the same sentiment. Lio sighs again, shaking his head with as much strength as he can muster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meis,” he says, “you’re going to be late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meis wavers, his eyes flickering towards the clock on the dresser nervously. He hates being late, always has, and Lio knows he can exploit that weakness to his advantage. Gueira will follow Meis once he leaves, not wanting to be left behind, and finally Lio will be able to sink back into his half-conscious state, content to lie until the earth swallows him up again, and he’s finally warm again within her core.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t just leave you here,” Gueira protests weakly. “Not like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go,” Lio says. “I’ll be okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once again, his two generals share a look, hesitant. “Boss…” Meis says after a moment. “You’ll… call us if you need us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio nods, a wordless lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Meis decides, setting a hand on Gueira’s shoulder. “We’ll call you later, okay? Just to check up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Lio says, closing his eyes against the blinding light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he opens them again, the room is empty.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>There’s not much to do in bed but think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s probably not true, Lio knows. People sleep in bed. They eat in bed. They have sex in bed. They also cry. He thinks about crying--maybe it’ll make him feel better if he does, or at least it’ll make him feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But his eyes stay clear and tear-free. Perhaps it’s the dehydration that makes them incredibly dry, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s never been very good at acting, and making oneself cry when they aren’t sad is pretty close to acting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, he’s stuck in bed because he can’t move again and he feels like he weighs a thousand tons, and so all that’s left to do is think and study the ceiling. At first he thinks about Mad Burnish, about Meis and Gueira and their little family. He thinks that maybe, maybe that was the first place he ever fit in. He had a place there, as their leader, and they looked up to him and took care of him and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged</span>
  </em>
  <span> there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where does he belong now? Not amongst the Burnish, with their quaint new lives and their entry-level jobs and their budding relationships. Not at Burning Rescue, either--he’s been offered a spot there, sure, but he can’t take it. Burning Rescue spent a large part of their existence fighting him and his people under misinformed orders, and though he doesn’t resent them for it, he can’t imagine staying close to the same people who almost had him and his community tortured and used as human batteries not too long ago. The only place he really feels safe is with Galo, and he-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t put that kind of pressure on him. Lio is not Galo’s responsibility. He already owes him more than he can possibly repay. It isn’t fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It isn’t fair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo is trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make him happy, to make him safe. When the Parnassus had crashed and the Burnish had been saved, Galo had offered Lio a job at Burning Rescue, a place at his apartment, clothes and meals and company. (Of course, Lio had moved out as soon as he’d found a place he could afford. There’s no need to burden Galo any more than he already has.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He used to be happy that he’d saved the world. He used to wake up every morning and head to Burning Rescue and sign whatever needed his signature and go out with Galo for lunch and answer his texts and his calls and help the ex-Burnish and live like everybody else. But as time went on, he got tired. Being with Galo made him feel more guilty than happy. Signing papers became a game of </span>
  <em>
    <span>what is the government denying us this time?</span>
  </em>
  <span> and answering calls turned into a chore he ended up dreading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things got harder. He lost his purpose, his will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes back to studying the ceiling.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, Galo has broken into his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio isn’t one hundred percent sure, but he’d put good money on it being Gueira’s fault. After all, there’s only one other key that can unlock his door, and the last time it was used was right before his generals headed off to Burning Rescue, right where Galo spends a good twelve hours a day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lies perfectly still as the door opens, frozen in place as he hears Galo’s voice call out his name. His finger twitches at his side, as if willing him to get up and act like a normal human being around just this one person. Instead he sinks further under the comforter, until it rests just below his lower eyelashes. His own breath feels warm against his face, but it’s a shallow heat, nothing that could warm him up in any significant way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lio?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of shuffling echoes through the vacant apartment, a couple of distant thuds and whacks as Galo sets down his belongings and kicks off his shoes, followed by light footsteps approaching the bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you dressed?” Galo asks unabashedly from outside. “If you’re not dressed, say something. Otherwise I’m coming in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio doesn’t say anything. He’s dressed enough, and he isn’t planning on getting out of bed anytime soon, either. (Like it would matter even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> plan on it. He has no control over his body anymore.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m coming in,” Galo announces, and suddenly the door is swinging open, hitting the wall of Lio’s apartment with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and there he is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo just stands there for a moment, clad in a tight black t-shirt and his Burning Rescue issued uniform pants, looking down at him without making a sound. Lio doesn’t look over at him, focusing on his own breath hot on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Galo asks at last, sounding more curious than condescending or pitying, though there’s a tinge of worry in his voice that he can’t hide. Lio blinks up at the ceiling, frustration stirring deep inside him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you here,” he asks, his voice muffled by the thick comforter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t come into Burning Rescue today,” Galo replies faithfully. “Or yesterday. Gueira said you weren’t feeling well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel fine,” Lio snaps, then bites his tongue as Galo flinches back. He’s embarrassed to be seen like this--maybe that’s why he’s lashing out. Galo wasn’t supposed to know that he’s struggling. He’s not supposed to become even more of a burden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you gotten out of bed today?” Galo asks once he recovers, his arm making a sweeping motion towards his spiky blue hair out of the corner of Lio’s eye. “You’ve got some pretty serious bedhead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio’s hand twitches again, like it’s trying to reach up and fix it. Or to reach out to Galo. It doesn’t work either way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Galo asks, taking a step forward, silently urging Lio to look over. He does, turning his head at a diagonal and straining his eyes upwards until they meet Galo’s, wide and blue like nothing else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Lio says, his throat dry. “Nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’ve been stuck in bed all day because of nothing?” Galo asks, cocking a brow at him. “Hey, maybe you’re lazier than I am after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not lazy,” Lio argues weakly, shame coursing through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Galo tells him gently. “Neither am I.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio watches with tired eyes as he kneels down next to the bed, resting one giant hand on Lio’s forehead. “You’re cold,” he says, glancing down at Lio’s exposed skin. “I thought you’d have a fever or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sick,” Lio says, resisting the urge to push his face into galo’s palm. It’s no surprise that Galo runs hot, but it’s on a whole nother level now that he’s frozen cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what’s wrong?” Galo repeats. “C’mon, Lio. Everyone’s really worried about you. It’s not like you to skip work two days in a row.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a quiet voice in Lio’s head urges. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Galo is your friend. He wants to help.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t move, can’t speak, and his words stay jumbled and hollow inside his brian. Galo’s hand is warm, and he’s trying so hard, Lio wants to try too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m,” he says, “a little… thirsty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thirsty,” Galo repeats. Lio nods ever so slightly, feeling the pad of Galo’s thumb brush against the side of his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… Well of course you are!” Galo decides, standing straight and setting his hands on his hips like a scolding parent. “You know how important staying hydrated is now that you don’t have that little alien keeping you healthy. Who’s the idiot now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs to himself, but it doesn’t sound right. Lio turns his head towards the wall and closes his eyes. He wishes he weren’t here at all, whisked away by some invisible force, some hand of fate or God or invisible force. Listening to Galo fake laughter for his sake is one of the worst things he’s ever heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah… I’ll be right back,” Galo says, sounding slightly apologetic. The sound of footsteps echoes throughout Lio’s apartment, followed by the banging of his kitchen cupboards opening and closing one after another and the hiss of the sink. Eventually, Galo returns to the room, waiting expectantly for a few seconds for Lio to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should drink,” he says after the silence stretches on a moment too long. “You’re gonna get sick if you don’t take care of yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio closes his eyes tighter, feeling his gut turn over on itself. “Go away,” he mumbles into the cotton of his comforter, his chest aching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want a straw? If you tell me where they are, I could get one for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo hasn’t heard him. Lio wrenches his arm apart from his side, tearing the blanket away from his face as his eyes fly open, staring with as much fire as he has left towards Galo. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go away,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says again, his voice cracking pathetically in the middle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo just stands there for a moment, the faux positivity melting off his face until at last Lio sees it--the helplessness, the fatigue he hadn’t been privy to before. It must be hard, he realizes, for Galo to have dealt with someone like him for so long. Maybe this will be the last straw, the one that pushes Galo out the door and out of Lio’s life for good. Nobody would blame him if it was, least of all Lio himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But instead Galo bends down to set the cup of water on Lio’s shitty bedside table, taking care to move his phone and his books out of the way, before straightening up and taking a few steps back. “Okay,” he says, back to his usual cheery self (only this time Lio can see right through it). “Get some rest, then. Call me if you need me. I’ll check up on you later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lio thinks, but his mouth is too dry and his tongue too thick and heavy to get it out. He watches Galo’s back as he retreats into the main room, listening for the click of the door before he even glances at the cup. He’s thirsty, has been for a while, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Easily within his reach. But accepting the water would be accepting Galo’s help yet again, and hasn’t he already profited off of Galo enough? How far will his kindness extend? How far will Lio let it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes the water, in the end. The idea of wetting his mouth again is too tempting, and it gives him enough motivation to reach up and grab the glass, his hand shaking under its weight. When he tries to drink, a good fourth of the cup spills onto his chest and rolls onto the bed beneath him, but it’s fine because he’s drinking something for the first time in two days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This is it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself after the glass has been drained. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the last time you take from him. Your problems aren’t his problems. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You</span>
  <em>
    <span> aren’t his problem.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop being a burden. Stop everything.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ceiling, he finds, isn’t half as interesting to look at now that he’s had a visitor.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Galo, being Galo, refuses to leave him alone after that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next time Lio wakes up, it’s to the sound of someone rummaging through his kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator and cursing quietly as they try to figure out his ancient, broken microwave. It’s not nearly as concerning as it should be, partially because Lio knows his kitchen is barren and empty and not worth robbing, and partially because he knows it’s Galo who’s messing around in there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows because the cup of water has been refilled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his best attempts, he can’t help but pay attention to the noises coming from the main room. Galo seems to be cooking--Lio can’t tell what, but he hears the clink of utensils against his dollar store bowls and the whir of the microwave (he guesses Galo figured out how to work it after all) alternating back and forth. He’s not hungry--he feels a little sick at the idea of eating, despite how hollow and empty his stomach feels--but it’s nice, hearing someone else in his apartment, making his space more… alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio feels that aching in his chest again, dull but consistent, and lets his fingers creep towards his torso to press against it like a bullet wound. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks to himself, closing his eyes and taking deep, steadying breaths. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you want? Whatever it is, you can’t have it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door creaks open, and there Galo is, his long hair tied back into a ponytail at the back of his head. He’s holding a steaming bowl of something that smells rich and spicy, steam wafting off the top. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Warm.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, you’re awake,” Galo says, closing the door behind him with his foot, then padding over to Lio’s bed. “I made curry. Well, I microwaved it. It came from Burning Rescue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio watches him carefully, keeping his eyes off the bowl. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No more,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, his mouth bitter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, sit up,” Galo prompts, letting go of the bowl with one hand to make an </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span> motion at Lio. “Unless you want me to spoon feed you. I mean, I’m not against that, but I think you might be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a child,” Lio says, sharp and quiet. “And I’m not hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo fixes him with an unimpressed look, eyes flat. “You haven’t eaten today. If you want something else I’d go get it for you, but you’re not being very communicative right now, and I’m not a mind reader. So either tell me what you want or sit up and let me feed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio grits his teeth, his body beginning to tremble. He doesn’t- Galo doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s not supposed to be here, with his stupid reheated curry and kiddie gloves, handling Lio like a stubborn baby who can’t keep himself alive on his own. He feels his eyes growing wet, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he should have just let himself dehydrate to death. Anything would be better than crying in front of Galo like a pathetic, useless, worthless little--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t be upset!” Galo exclaims, eyes widening in concern. “I-I can try to be a mind reader! Uhh… what are you thinking right now… Soup!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his cheek into the pillow and curling his hands into his bedsheets, clutching the fabric between his fingers. He just wants Galo to leave, why won’t he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go away?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not soup!” Galo backtracks, clearly flustered. “Um, what about pizza? I could go grab some Inferno Volcano Margherita Mega-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop!” Lio cries, jerking his head upwards to stare at the ceiling, a couple of angry tears falling onto his cheeks and dripping down his face. “Just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Galo falls silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air in the room hangs heavy, weighing down on Lio’s chest and forcing a few more tears out of his eyes as he tries to collect himself. It’s almost silent, save for the sound of the two of them breathing, the shift of the sheets as Lio slowly untangles his fingers from the fabric. Almost a minute has passed before Galo speaks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding truly regretful for once. “I just- I wanted to help, and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to go,” Lio tells him, as evenly as he can. His breath hitches around the words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lio…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lio says, his throat constricting, “would you please just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Galo says, stepping forward and holding the curry out in front of him. “I’m just trying to- I just want to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To help?” Lio finishes for him wetly. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” Galo asks, his voice trailing up in desperation. “Why can’t I help you? Aren’t we friends?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio feels his stomach twist and convulse inside of him. He thinks he might throw up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just curry!” Galo is saying, unaware of the muted pulsing in Lio’s head, the blood rushing in his veins. “I’m not trying to coddle you, I swear! I just want to make sure you stay alive, and you’ve gotta eat something if you’re planning on it. You know I’m not gonna leave until you’ve had at least a few bites, so would you just sit up already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Lio yells, frustration bubbling up inside of him and exploding out like fire. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t move</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay? It doesn’t matter if you tell me to sit up, or if you tell me to eat or drink or do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I just- I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo stares at him, his eyes round and shocked and sad. He looks like </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> might cry for a second, and Lio thinks that if he does he’ll end up vomiting for sure. But then Galo’s eyes move down the bed, fixing on something by Lio’s side, and his expression changes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your arms?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean,” Lio says flatly. The last thing he’d used his arms for was to drink that cup of water, and that was mostly out of thirst than anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you used them before,” Galo explains, waving his own arms around for emphasis and almost spilling the curry onto Lio’s floor. “When you were yelling at me to leave--the first time, not the second--you like, flipped your blanket off the bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, right. Lio averts his eyes at the memory, staring down at his arms. Experimentally, he moves his fingers, one by one like he’s learning to play the piano again, and then slowly rolls his wrist over so that his hand is lying palm-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body is heavy, his chest and head and legs the equivalent of a tonne of bricks each… But he can move his arms, and he can curl his toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo helps him sit up, stacks pillows against the headboard of the bed and props Lio against it like a limp stuffed animal, and hands Lio the curry. He holds the warm bowl in his hands and watches Galo perch on the edge of his bed, quiet, before scooping a bit of curry up with the spoon and lifting it to his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The taste is muted, but it’s not bad. Lio thinks it would probably taste better if he was fully hydrated, and if he’d brushed his teeth anytime within the last two days. He chews, swallows, brings another spoonful to his lips almost mindlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo waits until he’s eaten about half the bowl before he speaks again, and when he does, it’s softer than Lio has ever heard him. “Can you really not move?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Lio’s legs, which are still buried in blankets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio finishes his bite carefully before he tries to answer, staring down at the bowl in his lap. “I think I could,” he says at last. “If I needed to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?” Galo asks, patting Lio’s shin lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Lio says, watching the steam from his curry waft out of the bowl and disappear into the air. “I’m… okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not okay, and he knows that Galo knows that, too. If he were really okay, he’d be at Burning Rescue signing papers or at the new governor’s office in the middle of a meeting. He wouldn’t be stuck at home, relying on the help of others just to keep himself alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you give me anything else to work with?” Galo asks softly, his voice so close to breaking Lio can hear it waver. He shakes his head, his throat sore and mouth too tired to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s disappointed in himself. Not only has he derailed Galo’s day, he’s made him worried as well. The plan was to take as little from Galo as possible, and already he’s fucked it up. Why- Why didn’t he leave when Lio told him to? Why can’t anyone just let him lie, let the earth and the ice take him again until he doesn’t even have space to breathe? He didn’t ask for help--he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lio…” Galo sounds pained, reaching out to press his hand against Lio’s cheek, moving a piece of unkempt hair out of his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>… I just want to know what’s going on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you leave now?” Lio asks, high and tight-throated and hoarse. “I want to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo’s face falls, and he drops his hand back to his side. “I don’t want to leave you like this,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Galo,” Lio whispers, pleading. Galo sighs, lifting himself off of the bed and running a hand through his hair, ruffling the pieces that have fallen loose from his ponytail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll let you sleep,” he says, sounding rather tired himself. “But I’m staying on your couch tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio doesn’t argue. He’s tired, and if Galo really wants to spend his night crammed onto Lio’s tiny couch, that’s up to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go back to my place and grab some stuff, and I’ll be back in an hour,” Galo tells him as he heads for the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Lio agrees quietly, leaning back and closing his eyes. He listens to the quiet tap of the door in its frame and Galo’s muted footsteps, the sound of his spare key turning in the lock from the outside. He turns his head into the top pillow of his little stack and tunes into the sound of the busy city outside, cars and trucks and people and animals blending together into one low hum as he falls into sleep.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>He wakes up thirsty again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat is dry, and his head hurts dully, a thin pain that pulses in and out. He opens his eyes to the darkness of his room, turning his head towards his bedside table. He reaches out blindly, his fingers brushing the side of the glass before his eyes adjust. He brings the cup towards him, lifts it to his lips and drinks deeply, like he’s trying to fill up the empty space in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually he empties the cup, sucking in a breath of air when he does. His mouth tastes unwashed now that the film on his tongue has been washed away, and his throat feels scratchy and rough. On top of that, he’s still thirsty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no one in the house, he can tell as soon as he listens. Galo’s a snorer, and if Lio’s memory serves correct, a pretty loud one at that. But there’s no snoring coming through the thin walls, and no footsteps to suggest that he’s awake. Maybe he’d decided to stay at his own apartment after all, which Lio hopes is the case. He doesn’t want to ruin Galo’s routine, or make him go out of his way for him. It’s bad enough that he’d taken up as much of his friends’ time as he had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio means to go to sleep again, or to spend time staring at the ceiling or the wall, but his throat is sore and his lips are chapped and the pain in his head hasn’t gone away yet, and really all he wants is another cup of water. Galo isn’t here to help him, and Meis and Gueira seem to be content with leaving Lio in his hands. There’s nobody at his side to dote on him, or to pet his hair back and take care of him like he’s a sick child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not a child at all. Lio is in his twenties, and he’s alone in the apartment, and nobody is going to magically appear just to get him a cup of water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, he pushes himself into an upright position. His arms are shaky, and his back hurts from sleeping in such a strange position, but he catches himself before he can fall back down again. The room is silent aside from his labored breaths, and the air is frigid on his exposed skin. He’s dizzy, and his vision is very slightly fuzzy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath and swings his leg over the side of the bed, letting his toes brush the hardwood floor. He shivers, a shock of cold shooting up his leg as the pad of his foot presses into the ground, but he only hesitates for a second before swinging his other leg over to join the first. It feels strange to move his body after staying still for so long, like his joints and muscles and ligaments have forgotten how to bend and pull, and everything feels slow and heavy like he’s moving through molasses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Keep going,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks to himself, staring down at his feet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You have to. You have to be a person again, even if you don’t want to. Even if you’d rather lie in your shitty, cold apartment until the world ends, you have to keep going.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be a burden.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off the bed and into a standing position. Before he can fall back into his bed he makes himself take a step, and then another, walking carefully out the door and towards the kitchen, grabbing the empty glass along the way. The living room is empty, but there’s a Burning Rescue duffel bag on the couch that must be Galo’s. Maybe he’s coming to pick it up later, or maybe he left it for Lio to find. It doesn’t matter, either way; he’s just here for a drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio leans against the kitchen counter as he fills the glass, letting his eyes wander around the apartment until he feels water running down his fingers. He switches off the tap and brings the cup to his mouth, taking a few deep swigs. The water is cold on his hands and in his throat, making him feel more awake than he has in days. It makes him shiver and shake, but the coldness knocks out the numb feeling that had settled into his limbs, and gets rid of some of the filmy taste in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s about to go in and drain the second half of the cup when he hears keys in the door. Lio watches as the doorknob jiggles, too slow to return to his bed before the door bursts open. Galo stands in the doorway, his gaze meeting Lio’s immediately. His jaw drops, eyes bugging out ever so slightly, and Lio feels his stomach sink and twist like a captured snake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The glass slips out of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is filled with shattering noise, like a hailstorm on an icy lake. Cool water splatters against his leg assharp, clear shards scatter across the floor of the kitchenette, some of them brushing against Lio’s feet as they pass. He stands, frozen once again, in the light spilling in from the hallway, eyes wide and fixed on Galo’s still frame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You aren’t supposed to be here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re up!” Galo is saying, his mouth opening into a wide smile. “Good for you, man!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You aren’t supposed to be here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lio thinks again, his breath catching in his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You weren’t supposed to come back--to see me like this again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry if I startled you,” Galo says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I had to run to Burning Rescue for a minute, but I’m here now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Lio asks, but it comes out hoarse and quiet. Galo tilts his head questioningly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s all too much--the cold, the water on his legs, the fact that he’s up in the first place. He should have stayed in bed, and then maybe Galo would have gone away for good and left him to starve and rot alone like he wants to. He’s not supposed to keep coming back, offering his help over and over again when Lio has nothing to give him in return. It’s disgustingly unfair, and the worst part is that Galo doesn’t even mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes an automatic step back, his foot landing on several shards that pierce through his skin. Galo makes a little sound, glass crunching under his boots as he takes a step forward, reaching out with one hand. “Be careful!” he says, catching Lio’s hand in his. “Ah, that must hurt. Don’t move--I’ll come get you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He makes a move forward, but Lio wrenches his hand out of Galo’s grip and pulls it to his chest. “Stop it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo stumbles to a halt, stunned into freezing. “You- What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it,” Lio repeats, tears springing to his eyes against his permission. He brings a hand to his face, half to wipe them off and half to hide himself from Galo. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lio…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of glass crunching underfoot picks up again as Galo approaches, his shadow growing nearer against the light from the hallway, and then Galo is reaching out and pulling Lio into his arms. Lio’s feet lift a little off the ground and his cheek squishes against Galo’s shoulder. Galo is holding him so tight it’s as if he’s expecting Lio to put up a fight, but instead he lets himself fall limp, worn to exhaustion. He feels Galo sigh, his breath tickling the back of his neck, and doesn’t protest as he’s carried over the broken glass and spilled water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo sets him down on the couch, then disappears into the bathroom for a minute. He emerges with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a half-empty bag of cotton balls. Silently, he props Lio’s foot on his knee and wipes at the blood on his sole. Lio watches distantly, his eyelids heavy and body weighed down. He didn’t want Galo to come back, and yet a selfish, ugly part of him is happy to have someone here to care for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wishes he’d disappeared along with the Promare. He wishes he was long gone already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you gonna tell me what I did wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio’s eyes dart back to Galo’s face, but Galo isn’t looking at him. His attention is focused on fixing up Lio’s scrapes and scratches, but Lio can tell he’s listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he says, because it’s true. Galo’s done nothing wrong. Lio’s the one who’s wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Galo reaches for the rubbing alcohol and a clean cotton ball and dabs at Lio’s cuts gently. “Then why do you keep telling me to go?” he asks, the quietest tremor in his voice. “Do you just not want me around?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio stays quiet, watching Galo work until he finishes the first foot. When he looks up, Lio can see hurt on his face, and as much as he wishes he could fix it, he doesn’t know how he can. “I just…” he starts, but his tongue is too large in his mouth and his teeth are bone dry and his lips are cracked and chapped, splitting every time he moves his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Lio,” says Galo softly. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His skin stings and his eyes prickle, and he feels dangerously close to freezing again, but Galo’s hands on his leg, steadying, are buying him time enough to do what he has to. He reaches out, brushing his fingers along Galo’s jaw and under his chin until Galo looks up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It hurts,” he says softly, letting his hand drop to his side. “When you do things for me. It’s too much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I overwhelming you?” Galo asks, his thumb stroking Lio’s shin idly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Lio says. “I just… I can’t give anything back. I feel- guilty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Galo sighs, his shoulders dropping. “I guess that’s better than not wanting me around at all. But- Lio, you don’t have to feel bad because I’m helping you out! I like helping people--it’s why I became a firefighter in the first place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you shouldn’t have to,” Lio tells him. “Not all the time. And I’m- I’m an all the time case.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not a case,” Galo says. “You’re a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It feels a little like a confession, though Lio thinks Galo has thought so for a long time.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“I think you should see a doctor,” Galo tells him later. They’re sitting on the same couch, Lio under a pile of blankets and Galo behind him, working out the knots that have tangled in his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sick,” Lio says to the space in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not,” Galo agrees, “but I still think you should go. You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a lot of work,” Lio replies. He gets a snort in return, Galo’s breath tickling the back of his neck where his hair is parted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Says the one who saved the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a few minutes more. Galo begins to hum as he gently brushes through Lio’s hair, making little grunts of effort every so often when he comes across a particularly bad knot. It feels good, the closeness and the contact, and Lio is just beginning to drift into thoughtlessness when Galo speaks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can drive you there,” he says with a little pull on a strand of hair. “If you make the appointment, I’ll drive you there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Familiar, sickly guilt begins to crawl up Lio’s spine, but Galo continues before it can spread through him fully. “I’ve been meaning to drag you on a motorcycle ride with me, anyway. I gotta show off my moves, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does just a little (and maybe it makes him feel a little bit closer to normal, but more than that it makes him feel warm). “If you’re not at work,” he decides, “you can drive me there. Deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal,” Galo says triumphantly, a smile in his voice. Then, quieter, he adds, “I’m glad you’re okay. You are, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m-” Lio says, then pauses to think. “Better,” he finishes with a little nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’m glad you’re better,” Galo says, leaning forward to press his forehead to Lio’s hair. “Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lio smiles, his stone mouth cracking into a curve, and sits still, but not frozen, as Galo pulls the brush through his hair again and again and again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>bitches disappear for three months only to show up with mediocre gay content (it's me, i'm bitches)<br/><a href="djbunn3.tumblr.com">my tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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